


Unraveled

by Kantayra



Series: Atobe/Tezuka Canon 'Verse [4]
Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: First Time, Fluff, M/M, Morning After, Resolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 19:13:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7983040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At no point had Tezuka ever planned on anything other than tennis consuming him. Yet here he was the morning after Nationals, nude, inextricably tangled, and endlessly fascinated by the lips his fingertips now traced carefully.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unraveled

**Author's Note:**

> I'm rewatching PoT from the beginning after many years away and my reaction, like the first time I watched it, has been: "Why aren't Tezuka and Atobe having sex yet?" Hence, I needed to fic. Thanks so much, guys, for having so much UST that I finally broke my two-year writer's block! :P

Tezuka watched the blurred shape of the fan rotate slowly on the ceiling above the bed and wondered when his life had changed so fundamentally. The blades turned slowly, methodically, hypnotizing in a way, but without any answers to give.

With a sigh, Tezuka turned back to the weight nestled against the curve of his shoulder. Involuntarily, his fingers reached out and carded through soft hair. A soft exhalation blew across his chest in response, warmer than the breeze from the fan above, but Tezuka’s companion didn’t awake at the gentle strokes, only shifted slightly in his sleep, one naked leg slipping comfortably between Tezuka’s, blanketing Tezuka’s hip.

And, once again, Tezuka wondered what had become of his very careful life plan.

Tezuka’s plan, really, had been elegant in its simplicity: Play tennis. At some point, when his family finally nagged him enough about having some kind of life outside tennis, he would agree to whatever match they decided on to quash their demands, but only so that everyone would just leave him alone to play more tennis.

Tezuka knew that his mother worried sometimes about Tezuka’s single-minded focus, but that was the way Tezuka had always been, and he had never seen the point in changing that. He’d always known very clearly what he wanted to do with his life.

At no point had he ever planned on anything _else_ consuming him. Yet here he was now, nude, inextricably tangled, and endlessly fascinated by the lips his fingertips now traced carefully.

 _In a way_ , Tezuka’s mind rationalized, because that was what the human mind did when one’s sense of self was so completely shattered, _this could technically be construed as tennis._

It wasn’t even entirely a lie. The rush of winning Nationals. The after-party Atobe had generously thrown on Seigaku’s behalf (because of course the Atobes happened to have a mansion within an arm’s throw of the National Arena, and despite Atobe’s own disappointment at Hyotei’s loss, _everyone_ was secretly thrilled to see Rikkaidai finally toppled). The hours of the night stretching out long and lazy as the party ran its course, until Tezuka had finally started to doze off, adrenaline finally wound down, leaving him drained, relaxed, sated. And then a firm hand around Tezuka’s wrist, a new, different kind of adrenaline rush, sneaking away to the master bedroom. And finally, of course, ending up naked in bed with…

“Atobe.” Tezuka’s thumb curved along Atobe’s lower lip, where Atobe’s mouth was parted slightly in sleep.

Atobe let out a soft murmur and shifted again, the arm he had slung over Tezuka’s chest tightening its grip for a moment.

Tezuka watched in rapt fascination as consciousness slowly overtook Atobe. Atobe’s breath sped up, his heartbeat grew stronger where his chest pressed against Tezuka’s side, and his eyes began moving under closed lids. Then, with an epic yawn and a stretch, Atobe opened his eyes blearily.

Tezuka’s breath caught in his throat when the midnight blue behind Atobe’s eyes stirred, sharpened, deepened, and suddenly Tezuka was face-to-face with an opponent capable of matching him in every way.

“Tezuka,” Atobe said, a hint of satisfaction on his lips. Tezuka really needed to stop dwelling on every little thing Atobe’s mouth did.

“Good morning,” Tezuka said simply.

“Good morning.” Atobe folded the arm that had been wrapped around Tezuka’s chest, so that his palm now rested over Tezuka’s racing heart. He rested his chin on the back of that hand and looked up at Tezuka with fondness. Just close enough that Tezuka, sans glasses, could still clearly make out Atobe’s features.

Tezuka waited a beat for the innuendo, dirty words breathed against Tezuka’s cheek when Atobe had pulled Tezuka into bed the night before, hot breath against Tezuka’s skin, whispering reverence and adoration and…

Atobe didn’t say another word, but the smile on his face continued to grow the longer they stared at each other.

Tezuka reached out carefully and traced his fingers over the beauty mark under Atobe’s right eye. To Tezuka’s surprise, Atobe’s eyelashes fluttered closed at the caress, surrendering fully to Tezuka’s touch.

Tezuka’s breath caught in his chest at the thought, and he took a second breath to steady himself.

“How are you feeling?” he finally asked.

“Mmm,” Atobe sighed and opened his eyes once again. “Good. You?”

Tezuka nodded, something like relief soaking through his limbs. “Good,” he agreed. And then, because why not? “You feel good.” His fingers returned to Atobe’s lips, fascinating things that they were, soft and lush and pinker than they had any right to be.

Atobe pressed a kiss to the tip of Tezuka’s index finger. “Not as good as you feel,” he lobbed back lazily, and the leg between Tezuka’s thighs moved with Atobe’s shifted weight until Atobe was lying fully atop Tezuka’s body, pinning him in place.

“We probably shouldn’t…” Tezuka began, but let the thought run off because it was rather ridiculous at this point.

Atobe chuckled against Tezuka’s fingers. “Yes, I think it’s safe to say that we’ve already thoroughly enjoyed any conflict of interest that comes from two rival captains dating.” He caught Tezuka’s wrist in his free hand and pressed two soft kisses against the center of Tezuka’s palm. It seemed to Tezuka that, whatever obsession he had with Atobe’s mouth, Atobe suffered the same tenfold with regard to Tezuka’s hands.

Tezuka let his head fall back against the pillows and looked up at the ceiling fan once more. “I suppose the season’s technically over now, anyway. Not so much of a conflict of interest anymore. Although we really should have waited until at least graduation, just to be safe.”

“Tezuka, my love,” Atobe said wearily, “your insistence on abstinence throughout the season was trying enough. Would you really have kept me waiting another eight months?” Atobe’s eyes darkened, and the wicked smirk Tezuka loved so much curved his lips for the first time that morning. “Could you have truly denied _yourself_ the pleasure of my body for that much longer?”

Tezuka stifled the instinctive laugh, and then realized that there was no one here to see – no teammates he needed to lead by stoic example; no teachers, coaches, or scouts he needed to impress; no opponents he needed to intimidate, except for Atobe, of course, but the ship had long since sailed on intimidating Atobe. So Tezuka let the laughter burble up into a soft, deep chuckle that caused Atobe’s eyes to open wide.

“Oh my, you’ve gone giddy. What have I done to you?” Atobe teased, pressing a playful palm over Tezuka’s forehead to check his temperature.

Tezuka brushed the hand off and then rolled them suddenly, trapping Atobe beneath him. A gasp escaped Atobe’s perfect lips, and Tezuka leaned in to steal a quick, chaste kiss. “What have we done to each other?” Tezuka retorted with some satisfaction when Atobe blinked up at him, dazed.

And because Tezuka really didn’t have any reason to hold back anymore, he took Atobe’s mouth with his own again, more fully this time, lips parted, tongues tangled, deep and wet and hungry. Atobe’s hands scrambled at Tezuka’s back, finally found purchase, and pulled Tezuka further into him.

Tezuka finally withdrew – hours? No, it must only have been minutes – later, leaving them both panting as if they’d just had a full, long rematch. “Your mouth,” Tezuka finally gasped out, “is _incredible_.”

Atobe was smirking again at this. While it was entertaining to see how long Tezuka could keep him off balance, Tezuka had known that sooner or later Atobe’s mind would return fully to the game. “And you knew _exactly_ what to do with my mouth last night, hmm?” Atobe purred, stroking Tezuka’s cheek with the back of his knuckles. “It’s always a question, with new lovers. But not you. You know how to use a mouth,” Atobe craned his neck up to nibble on Tezuka’s earlobe, “ _properly_ ,” he whispered huskily right against Tezuka’s ear.

A shudder wracked Tezuka’s body at the memory of everything that mouth had done to him last night, and what it still had yet to do. “ _Atobe_ ,” Tezuka sighed in agreement and yielded when Atobe twisted their bodies around once more, so that they were side-by-side now, which really was much better since it left both of them with free hands.

“Speaking of which,” Atobe continued lightly, “I don’t think you left my mouth alone long enough last night for me to officially congratulate you on your victory.”

“I thought last night _was_ your mouth officially congratulating me on my victory.”

Atobe laughed aloud at that, which set Tezuka off snickering too. Twice in one morning. He really was losing control of himself at an alarming rate.

His hand trailed lightly over the muscles of Atobe’s shoulder, and he let out a wistful sigh. “This wasn’t according to plan at all, you know.”

“And what was the plan?” Atobe inquired, preening into Tezuka’s touch. He really did seem to lose all composure the moment Tezuka’s hands touched him. Tezuka’s heart skipped a beat at the thought that he had that much power over Atobe’s body. Then, Atobe smirked at him, and Tezuka’s strange train of thought derailed. “Play tennis all the time and completely neglect all your body’s other obvious needs?”

“Touché.”

“You couldn’t honestly have imagined that someone like me would let you go to waste like that.”

“Until we played at Regionals, I couldn’t honestly have imagined that someone like you even _existed_.” Tezuka’s thumb lingered on the line of Atobe’s collarbone. “You’re very improbable, you know.”

Atobe caught Tezuka’s wrist and brought Tezuka’s hand to his lips. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You take everything as a compliment.”

“That,” Atobe informed him pompously, “is because what else could anyone possibly say in my presence except compliments to my person?”

“How about: Until I met you, I was actually somewhat responsible, not the sort of person who sneaks out of unsupervised parties to lose my virginity to another boy, at age 14?” Tezuka sighed when Atobe kissed his hand yet again. “My parents actually _trusted_ me.”

“Your parents won’t have a clue. In their minds, you’re as responsible and trustworthy as ever. Only I,” Atobe used his grip on Tezuka’s hand to suddenly pull him in close, “get to know just how wild you can be.”

This kiss, to Tezuka’s surprise, was lighter and sweeter than the last, like the inferno that had finally erupted between them last night had burned down to embers, comforting and warming. It was probably just as well, because Tezuka didn’t think his apparently newly sexualized body could handle any more at the moment.

Their mouths lingered against each other for a few minutes before Atobe finally pulled back, eyes uncharacteristically downcast when usually he was so direct. “We can’t stay here forever, of course.”

Tezuka sighed. He could hear a slowly rising cacophony downstairs as various other boys from the party last night woke up. “See, this is why I said we should wait until all our captain duties were complete.”

Atobe groaned and rolled over onto his back before sitting up. “We could take a shower.”

“We already showered last night,” Tezuka reminded him. “Twice. After the first time when you…” He trailed off with a gesture that didn’t resemble the mechanics of the act being discussed at all.

Atobe actually blushed in response. “It seems you bring out my wild side, too,” he agreed.

“We should schedule a date,” Tezuka concluded, “after we get back home and everything settles down.”

“Oh, you mean a _real_ date, unlike those 17 ‘unofficial’ dates when I wasn’t allowed to do anything more than flirt with you outrageously?”

Tezuka grimaced. “Was it really 17?”

“Yes,” Atobe assured him testily, “I kept _very_ close count.”

“Then I owe you. Saturday? Tennis? A movie? Dinner?”

“All three,” Atobe concluded, “in that order, followed by you convincing your parents to let you spend the night at my place.”

“What about _your_ parents?” Tezuka finally reached over to the nightstand and put his glasses back on.

Atobe waved a hand airily. “They’re in some other hemisphere, somewhere, I forget which. Possibly not even the same one as each other.”

Tezuka rolled his eyes at the strangeness of the Atobe family in general and set upon the important and difficult task of locating all his clothes.

Atobe rolled out of bed on the other side and picked up Tezuka’s shirt thoughtfully. “Want to cause a scandal?” he asked casually, a hint of the old bite in his words as he gestured Tezuka towards the shirt he’d been wearing last night.

Tezuka snatched his shirt back from Atobe, and gave Atobe him own shirt in return. “No.” The least he could do was try to maintain some sense of responsibility in public.

“Alas, duty calls,” Atobe agreed, and began dressing.

Tezuka caught himself watching Atobe out of the corner of his eye, which was silly because they were lovers now, and he could watch as much of Atobe as he pleased. Atobe quirked at eyebrow at him, and Tezuka purposefully stared as Atobe finally buttoned up his shirt.

Atobe stared right back, and it set off a warm feeling in the pit of Tezuka’s stomach that hinted that, by the time Saturday finally rolled around, his temporary self-control around Atobe would go completely out the window once more.

“Breakfast?” Atobe asked once they were both presentable again, somehow making the word sound downright obscene.

Tezuka nodded toward the locked bedroom door.

They stepped carefully around three Higa sub-regulars who had crashed in the hallway, made it down the staircase where Akutagawa and Kabaji had taken the two window bench-seats on the landing to pass out, and trailed through the ballroom, which had transformed into a giant slumber party since they’d left. Momoshiro and Echizen were both snoring loudly enough to wake the dead under the grand piano.

“Let it never be said,” Atobe concluded, “that I don’t throw the best parties.”

Tezuka’s lips twitched in response as Shiraishi stirred for a moment before his head slid further down the wall to rest on Toyama’s.

Atobe led them onward to where the smell of breakfast and the chatter of conscious teenagers emanated.

Tezuka blinked for a moment at the banquet hall that Atobe had somehow arranged, despite the fact that Tezuka knew that he’d been very, _very_ preoccupied all evening.

Atobe smirked back at him and shrugged. “I’ll call you tonight, the usual time.”

“Later,” Tezuka agreed, and watched Atobe head over to where Oshitari was making faces at Mukahi, who seemed to being trying to stuff as much food in his mouth at once as possible. Tezuka shuddered and turned his attentions to the awake Seigaku members.

He’d only taken one step toward their table when Fuji’s eyes widened at him, and Fuji grabbed Kikumaru’s wrist hard.

“Ow, ow, Fuji! That hurts!” Kikumaru complained.

Fuji blinked very pointedly in Tezuka’s direction twice, and then an even-more-nefarious-than-usual smile lit up his face. “Captain,” he said sweetly, and Tezuka could honestly not remember a single other time Fuji had called him that to his face before, which meant that Fuji somehow _knew_ and was teasing him about how very un-captain-like his actions had been last night. “Did you have a good night’s sleep?”

Yes, Fuji was _definitely_ teasing him.

Kikumaru blinked back and forth between where Fuji was still tugging pointedly at his arm and Tezuka, trying to decipher Fuji’s convert signals. Wonderful. Thank heaven Oishi waved to Tezuka, as innocent and trusting as ever. Actually, thank heaven twice that Tezuka had seen that Inui was still asleep back in the ballroom.

“Fine.” Tezuka sat down next to Oishi, and a plate of food miraculously appeared before him by whatever catering nation Atobe seemingly commanded. “You?”

“Not as good as yours, I think. All the tension has just leeched out of you this morning,” Fuji smiled.

Kikumaru’s eyes narrowed at Tezuka, as if he was starting to piece together that whatever Fuji was trying to clue him into involved Tezuka in some way.

Fuji glanced over at the Hyotei table where Ohtori now seemed to be physically separating some altercation between Shishido and Mukahi. Atobe merely watched their shenanigans with a bemused expression. “Atobe, too, of course.”

Kikumaru’s eyes narrowed further, scrutinizing Atobe now.

“We should probably gather the rest of the team and head back home after breakfast.” Oishi, bless him, started discussing _scheduling_.

Fuji shrugged and released Kikumaru’s arm.

Tezuka met Fuji’s eyes for a moment, carefully considering the out Oishi had provided, and then deliberately turned his head to look at Atobe, before returning to look directly at Fuji again. “Yesterday,” he informed Fuji seriously, “was a _very_ good day for me. I feel that I earned a good rest.”

“Undoubtedly,” Fuji smiled back.

If this was what Tezuka’s life had turned into, he could at least meet it head on. After all, life – like tennis – was a lot more fun that way.


End file.
